Scars
by InLoveWithLaughing
Summary: Normal people don't have scars like these. Hermione has never been normal. Normal people can't heal scars. Luckily, Lavender has never been normal either.


For the _If You Dare Challenge_, _The Not For The Faint of Heart Competition, The Harry Potter Femmslash Project Challenge, Femmslash Competition _and _House Point Competition _on the_ HPFC Forum _

Prompts used: 507_- Blood_ and _Hermione_

Description: Normal people don't have scars like these. Hermione has never been normal. Normal people can't heal scars. Lavender has never been normal either.

Rating: T

_Disclaimer: I don't Harry Potter, but I do own an immense love of all things slash which I cultivate by writing it.__** I also don't condone any of the harmful behaviour written about in this fic.**_

_**WARNING: Description of self-harm, if that's a trigger for you, turn back now.**_

* * *

_She's breathless. Her wrists are pulsing. Something inside her is clawing to get out. The blade is shiny. The blade is sharp. She gasps at the pain. She likes__ the pain. She needs it. Blood runs down her down her arm. Her chest stops moving. She wonders if she's dying. She's not. The next day she does it again. She cuts again and again. Soon her arms are covered in scars. Now everyone can see her pain. Attention seeker. Emo. Freak. She's scarred forever. _

She makes an excuse to Ron and Harry, darting into the first bathroom she comes to and, after checking all the stalls are empty, locking the main door. She knows she shouldn't. Not again. She pulls up her sleeves and runs her fingers over the ugly, raised lines. Straight and even, they don't cross as all. They seem to be mocking her. She can't control herself for even a day.

She pulls her sleeves down. Runs a feverish hand through her hair and pulls desperately. Catches site of herself in the mirror. Her face is pale and her eyes wide, but apart from that there's no change. She's still the same bushy-haired, plain-faced girl. Teenager. Woman. Something like that.

She leans on the sink then pushes away. Harry and Ron will wonder where she is. She grabs the blade from her bag, hidden so carefully that morning and sits down with her back against the wall.

She draws the blade carefully over a patch of unmarked skin. Gasps. She watches entranced as warm blood wells up in the cut and drip, drip, drips to the floor. She sags slightly, feeling the frantic need for _something _slowly leave her body as she cuts again. Once more and she's relaxed. She can deal with life again.

She wipes up the spilt blood and gets a wad of toilet paper to press against her wrist. The door rattles. She freezes. Her heart thumps wildly in her ears and her breathing suddenly seems very loud. Terror and guilt twist in her stomach and her hands tremble.

_Go away, go away, go away_, she thinks desperately.

The door rattles again and then the lock clicks in response to a spell and a girl walks in. Terror fills her as she takes in the familiar curls and eyes that are staring at her, her own horror and disgust mirrored back to her in bright blue.

Lavender shuts the door behind her and relocks it, then leans against it, her eyes never leaving Hermione. Hermione doesn't know what to do. She can't move or even speak. Slowly Lavender walks over and sits beside her, a small crease forming between her eyes.

"Want me to heal that?" She says finally.

"I'll just have to do it again then." The words tumble out unbidden and uncontrollable, but she can't bring herself to regret them.

Lavender nods, as if she understands. "Why do you do it?"

The truth gets stuck in her throat. She's never been able to admit it, even to herself. She closes her eyes and leans her head back against the cold stone wall, a tear sliding down her cheek.

"Tell me," Lavender whispers, laying a soft hand on her bare knee.

"I don't know."

Silence. Then, "Look at me."

She can't. Can't bear to see the judgment. She feels cold air where there was previously heat and knows Lavender has left. She waits to hear the door open, but it never does. Her eyes fly open as a warm, heavy weight settles on lap.

She's sitting on a bathroom floor, wrist still bleeding and soaking through the toilet paper, with Lavender Brown straddling her. A bubble of laughter rises in her chest at the ridiculousness of it all and comes out as a half-sob.

Lavender reaches out a hand and runs it lightly over her cheek, stroking her thumb along her bottom lip and _demanding _eye contact. Hermione's breath catches and her eyes are draw to Lavender's white throat as she swallows. Scars run up the side of that throat, still angry and red months later. She traces them gently, ignoring it when Lavender flinches. They feel like her scars.

"It's stopped bleeding," Lavender murmurs, because anything louder is impossible right now.

"Yeh?" she says, equally quiet. She looks down and drops the paper. It isn't as deep as she thought, and for once this makes her glad. She doesn't want another scar.

She looks back up at the strange woman who is watching her carefully, touching her face so tenderly, and wonders why she's never met her before. She laughs shakily, because she's not sure what else to do. Angles her face upward in a clear request. Lavender giggles, because that's what Lavender does, but the space between them is disappearing into nothing and she's closing her eyes and soft lips are brushing against hers.

She thinks that it should be weird kissing a girl that she's never really liked very much on a bathroom floor, but it's not. It's achingly sweet and something that she thinks would have helped a long time ago.

Then Lavender's tongue collides hotly with hers and she's not thinking of anything. She's gasping and kissing back, because she's a Gryffindor and she's not about to just let herself be kissed. There's a small moan that could have come from either one of them, and her hands are sliding into that surprisingly silky hair and pulling her closer, deepening the kiss.

Lavender pulls away, eyes bright and face flushed, then begins to kiss her scars. Each one, not matter how faint, gets a kiss. And Hermione doesn't mind, because something and the heat pooling in her stomach and the way her lips still taste of sticky, cherry lip-gloss makes her forget, for the time being at least, about the pain.


End file.
